


Take Care of You

by BlackHolesandUnicorns



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Azure Moon Route, Confessions, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, Post canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21856771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackHolesandUnicorns/pseuds/BlackHolesandUnicorns
Summary: Dimitri realizes that, in his own way, Felix has been caring for him his entire life. This prompts certain urges of his own -- and a few realizations.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 12
Kudos: 280
Collections: 2019 Dimilix Holiday Exchange





	Take Care of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TCup_Jenni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCup_Jenni/gifts).



By the time the matter of the Daphnel/Galatea border was settled, darkness had fallen.

Dimitri had watched the light change. From the crystal blue of early afternoon to the radiant orange of sunset to the bruised purple of twilight. When servants had appeared to light the lanterns, restoring some measure of illumination, he gave up on seeing the outside of the room for the rest of the night.

He caught Felix’s eye, and his old friend shrugged one shoulder helplessly before stepping in in that bullish, terribly undiplomatic way he had, running roughshod over everything Ingrid’s blustering father had to say.

Despite his exhaustion, he smiled, then.

What _would_ he do without him?

The question laid even heavier on his mind when they finally broke for the night. It had briefly seemed as if they might continue on into the morning, making little progress all the while, but, ah. Felix had that way about him.

“If neither of you are going to budge,” he had snapped, both hands coming down against the vast round table in a startling bang that woke no few number of dignitaries from half-slumber. “Could you just declare war on one another so we can intercede with our armies and settle this the easy way?”

“Duke Fraldarius,” Dimitri said, a clear rebuke, but -- hah. Oh, it had done its work. He’d cleared his throat gently. “I’m certain that such extreme measures would never be necessary. It won’t come to that.”

“Right,” Felix had said, sitting back in his chair. “Sure it won’t.”

The tenor of negotiations had changed considerably, after that. Lord Galatea was not fully cooperative, and Lady Daphnel had plenty to say of her own, but Felix’s threat had not fallen on deaf ears.

When silver moonlight spilled in through the windows and across the table, and the grandfather clock announced that midnight was upon them, Lord Galatea settled back in his chair, his prodigious frown having more the air of defeat than the stubbornness that had marked the rest of the night. “I suppose I could be made to sign something along those lines.”

Judith nodded reluctantly, her lips folded. “Barely acceptable,” she allowed.

Dimitri sighed with relief. He twisted in his chair to address the aide waiting by the door. He was slumped up against the wall, eyes half lidded, but sprang to attention a moment later as if sensing the attention of the king. “Might you fetch a scribe, then?” he asked, gently. The poor lad couldn’t be a day older than sixteen. “We --”

The sound of a chair pushing out from the table drew his attention back. It was Felix, pushing himself to his feet. His jaw was set in that stubborn way he had. “Absolutely not,” he said sharply. “Once we start drawing up documents, it’ll be another five hours. It can wait until -- until everyone has had some rest.”

And the way he spoke the words, standing firm and unyielding, brought a certain memory to Dimitri’s mind, one he had nearly forgotten long ago.

Felix, small and fierce, standing before him with arms held out as if to block the path of the fully grown armsmaster before him. _“Dima’s sick!”_ he’d cried, his sweet little voice ferocious and dauntless. _“You can’t make him train today! I won’t let you!”_

His breath caught, and his heart swelled.

They were all looking at him, he realized, and he raised a fist to his lips, coughing delicately into it. “Ah. His Grace is correct, of course. We are all compromised from fatigue. Better for all if we reconvene here tomorrow morning. We’ll sign the papers, and then celebrate peace.”

All were, frankly, eager to accept the offer. The council room emptied with an alacrity that was shocking to behold.

When Dimitri rose from his seat, the last to leave as was proper, he found Felix standing at the door, waiting for him.

He couldn’t help the smile that curled onto his lips. “Did you dismiss the lords and ladies of the realm for my benefit?” he asked.

Felix looked away, eyes fixated on a spot beyond his shoulder. “Hardly yours alone,” he muttered.

Even when he was young and sweet and soft, Felix had never liked to meet his eyes. He recalled a time when, curious, he’d finally asked why. Felix had coloured, his chubby cheeks turning pink, and he’d shrugged his little shoulders. _“It makes my heart feel too big,”_ he’d said.

Dimitri couldn’t help but wonder if his reasons remained the same, all these years later.

“Well,” he said. “I’m grateful. I would have worked until the break of dawn without your interference.”

“I know,” Felix replied, folding his arms. “In fact, I’m still not convinced that you won’t. Come on. I’ll see you in bed, so I know you’re not scribbling drafts at your desk.”

A surprised chuckle escaped his chest at that, but he knew better than to assume that Felix might be joking. And, of course -- he was not wrong to be concerned. More than once, the king had done just that, working late into the night long after everyone else had retired. He bowed his head, accepting his fate. “Of course,” he murmured. “Lead the way.”

They must have made quite the picture, the slight, lean Duke leading the contrite King with his head bowed low as a chastised child. When they reached the royal chambers, Felix dismissed the two drowsing servants waiting inside with a flick of his wrist.

“The King isn’t to be disturbed,” he said curtly. “I’ll see to him.”

When the two had scurried away, leaving them alone with the low-burning fire and the silence of Dimitri’s chambers, he smiled faintly at him. “That’s very kind of you,” he murmured.

Felix grunted, moving to the fireplace. He swept the poker into his hand with the grace he usually reserved for his blade, and bent to tend to the smouldering flames. “Kindness has nothing to do with it,” he said. Warm orange light illuminated his hands and face as he coaxed the fire back into flame. “I just know you can convince them that you’re the Savior King and don’t need to rest.”

“Come now,” Dimitri said, toeing off his boots. “You make it sound as though I’m about to fall over.”

“Hah.” Felix turned, and levered the poker toward him in an especially pointed accusation. “ _You_ make it sound as though you’d consider resting before you _are_.”

He smiled at the consternation in Felix’s voice, and opened his mouth, a pithy reply on the edge of his tongue, before --

\-- a voice, just at the edge of his hearing, twisted hatefully and distorted almost beyond understanding --

_“You think it would absolve you, if you did?”_

\-- and the jocular rejoinder he’d prepared withered and died.

Felix must have seen the stormcloud pass over his face. His brow furrowed. He lowered the poker, the sardonic edge disappearing from the set of his mouth. “What?” he asked. His tone lacked its usual sharpness.

He knew better than to heed the things whispering at the edge of his hearing, by now. They were not real, and they had only ever lead him further and further away from any real kind of truth.

But sometimes…

Sometimes, their words rang very true.

“I push myself because I must,” he said, very quietly. “Because if I spend every waking moment for the rest of my life trying, I will still fall short of restitution for the things I have done. The people --”

“ _Tch_.”

Dimitri went quiet, drawn in by the strange softness in Felix’s face, belying his offhand dismissal.

“The people adore their King,” the Duke of Fraldarius said. He spoke very firmly -- but gently. Almost painfully so. Those amber eyes looked _everywhere_ but at his face. “And with good reason, considering he thinks nothing of his own health and is probably going to drive himself into an early grave for their sake, all out of some ridiculously misplaced sense of obligation.”

“Not obligation,” Dimitri insisted.

“Guilt, then,” Felix amended, and shook his head. “Even worse.”

“I am guilty of plenty.” Which Felix ought to know. He had seen enough of it with his own eyes -- seen it before anyone else, in fact. “Or have you forgotten why you call me ‘boar?’”

His eyes flew open in surprise. “Hah!” The shocked little laugh seemed to erupt from him unasked, and, quickly, he spun and deposited the poker back against the crate with a clatter. He didn’t look back. “... I used to call you boar because there were things I didn’t understand,” he said after a long moment. “Now, I understand them. It changes the equation.”

“How so?” Dimitri asked softly. He had the strangest desire to go to him, lay a hand on his shoulder. He shook himself to try and dislodge it. No luck.

A long pause, filled with the merry crackling of flames.

And then, “You’d give all of yourself away, if you could,” Felix said. His voice was gruff, ragged with the edge of some barely restrained emotion Dimitri could not recognize. “And you’d think you deserved it, right until the last piece was gone.”

Ah.

Dimitri bowed his head. He flexed his fingers on the back of the chair, and winced as he felt the upholstery crunch beneath his touch. “Is that not what a King is meant to do?”

Felix scoffed quietly, finally turning back to him. He still would not look at him. There was that flush in his cheeks, high and blotchy and so familiar. “Despite what everyone would have me believe, you kings are flesh and blood like everyone else. You’re not born any different.”

And once again, he was taken back. Felix with his back up against his bedroom door, his feet braced against the floor, his arms folded over his chest.

 _“I really do need to go practice my lance forms, Felix,”_ Dimitri had said.

Felix’s face had scrunched up into a glower. “ _You’re sicker than me! And they say I’m too ill to practice! So that means you are, too!”_

 _“It’s different for me,”_ Dimitri had said softly, and he could recall, even now, how touched he had been when Felix had shaken his head, had refused to move even when he resorted to physical force, until he’d finally relented and crawled into bed.

He’d awaken, hours later, fever broken when Felix gazing down at him, his eyes shining. He’d pressed chubby fingers against Dimitri’s brow, and broke into a wide, happy smile.

 _“See?”_ he’d said, proud as if he’d healed him, himself.

In a way, he practically had.

Dimitri felt that same warmth blossom in his chest even now, after all these years, remembering it. He lowered his head, shaking it. He thought of Felix. The way he’d looked then. The way he looked, now. A little smile of contentment curled onto his lips. “... hah,” he breathed. “You always have been that way, haven’t you?”

Felix finally looked up, then, snapping his gaze to meet his eyes. “Like what?” he asked sharply, balling his fists as if he expected a blow.

“Been the only one taking care of me,” Dimitri replied softly.

Felix’s eyes widened. He looked quickly away once again. “You’ve had an entire nation eager to see to your every need since the moment you were born,” he muttered.

“Yes,” Dimitri agreed. He took a step, unthinking, like someone had just pulled at the end of a tether to send him stumbling toward Felix. “So many people, all hoping to help create and serve a perfect king. But… are not kings flesh and blood?” Felix’s words from earlier came easily to his tongue. “You’ve never cared so much about the king. Only me. Only Dimitri.You’ve always taken care of _me_ , Felix.”

He had continued walking, he realized, and now he stood before Felix, gazing down at him. His throat felt oddly dry, the air too thin, as if he were up in the mountains. His fingers twitched, itching for something -- what, he couldn’t say, not exactly.

Only that they yearned toward the man before him.

Felix seemed to sense whatever was in the air, as well. His shoulders tensed, and his body seemed to quiver. “That’s not true,” he protested, hoarse and quiet. “We both know it. Are you going to pretend that, during those years where I didn’t understand, during the _boar_ years, I was anything more than a bitter, awful prig? That I didn’t contribute to the exact opposite of taking _care_ of you?”

Dimitri considered. He thought of Felix’s flashing eyes, the disdainful curl of his lip, the achingly vast distance between them.

And also, of the way Felix had watched him, all the time. How he’d come to him on the night before Edelgard had attacked Garreg Mach -- _“Please, don’t get yourself killed. Please_ ,” he’d begged, gripping his shirt and gazing up at him. How he’d been aware, in those years of lost and bitter exile, memories so clouded with red mist and regret that he was glad he barely remembered them, that he was being pursued, and not only by his enemies.

“Even then,” he said quietly. “Despite it all.”

“Ridiculous,” Felix scoffed.

It was so very strange, how you could become so aware of another’s presence that the very air seemed saturated with it. His hand moved unthinking, and came to rest against Felix’s cheek. His skin was very warm. He’d always been like that, like an extra heated brick against Dimitri’s side when they’d shared a bed as children.

Dimitri thought of laying awake and listening to him breathe peacefully beside him, radiating that heat.

He missed it, he realized. And, more than that -- he craved some deeper, evolved form of it, in a way he’d never quite understood before.

“Who takes care of _you_ , Felix?” he queried softly. His thumb carefully stroked along his sharp, fine cheekbone.

Felix’s whole body seemed to shudder like the wind blowing through dead leaves. Dimitri felt more than saw his sharp intake of breath. “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked in a rough, rushed sort of hiss. “What are you… what…?”

Dimitri smiled faintly. A certain sort of surety bloomed in his chest. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to take the final step between them, so that he felt Felix’s body heat against him, familiar even after all these years. “If you’re not terribly opposed,” he murmured. “I’d be honoured to attempt the task, myself.”

For a moment, he thought he might have perhaps miscalculated. He thought he had heard rumours, had noticed signs. But if he were wrong -- if Felix were uninterested , or, worse, if this were not something that he would ever even _consider,_ after all _\--_

Ah.

But he needn’t have worried.

In an instant, Felix was upon him. His hands grasped two hunks of his hair in his hands, and his face was turned up, his eyes bright, and then tightly closed, and then Dimitri found himself yanked roughly down.

Their lips met.

It had been some time… 

It had been, in fact, a very long time since Dimitri had kissed anyone and meant it. The young ladies he courted for the position of queen had claimed some number of his kisses, naturally, but that -- that was cordial. Professional. Rather businesslike, all told.

But _this_ …

Kissing Felix was nothing like business.

For how easy it was, for one. So natural. It was as if they had been doing this for years, as if they already knew exactly how one another liked to be kissed, as if they’d taken the time beforehand to communicate just how it ought to go. Dimitri’s arms came up around Felix, and 

Felix’s fingers slid all the way up against his scalp, and their tongues tangled together as if they were dancing.

What a lovely surprise, he thought faintly, as Felix nipped at his lower lip and made him gasp in delight.

He pulled away, panting. “I -- wait. Ah, Felix,” he breathed.

Almost immediately, the shining light in Felix’s amber eyes, so like the fire behind them, vanished like a shutter had slammed shut. His fingers went limp in his hair. He went to step back, and, reluctantly, Dimitri let him, releasing his hold.

Even right before the roaring fire, the room felt very cold outside of his arms.

“Right,” Felix said, reaching up to brush back his bangs and arrange them neatly behind his ear. They’d fallen across his face as they’d kissed. Dimitri watched with interest. “I understand.” The movement of his lips drew his attention there. They were puffy and wet, shining in the light. Quite mesmerizing, in fact… “I -- I’ll see you in the morning, to sign the treaty.”

Those words snapped him back to full awareness, especially when Felix sidled to one side with the clear intent to leave, as he implied. Dimitri reached out and grasped his arm firmly, without even thinking. “No!” he protested sharply. “I -- what is it that you think you understand?”

Felix flushed even brighter than before, and hunched his shoulders. “Don’t make me say it,” he murmured. “We both know why you stopped. Just let me go, and -- and you can forget this ever happened, just like you clearly want to.”

“What?” Dimitri shook his head helplessly. “I -- no! No, I don’t want to. Not at all. I -- Felix…” He smiled then, realizing the misconception, and reached out to brush those bangs aside, following the motion of Felix’s own fingers. “I… merely wanted to ascertain, that you -- ah. That we were on the same page. When I said that I wanted to take care of you, I did mean that I want to take you to bed for the night.”

Hah.

Oh, he would try and remember that -- the exact way Felix’s eyes flew up to his face, the way his chest puffed up, the hitch in his breath and that wild, panicked look in his eyes. Dimitri did not consider himself especially skilled at reading faces, exactly, but -- this?

Anyone could read this.

“You aren’t opposed, I see,” he said softly, unable to help the pleasure in his voice.

Felix swallowed, his throat bobbing. “Of course not,” he whispered.

Well.

That was good. 

And then Felix was kissing him again, more desperately and eagerly than before, wrapping his arms around him, pulling him so close it was as if he wanted to be closer than their clothes and even their skin would possibly allow. He was tugging at his own coat -- then at Dimitri’s, and the sweet, eager sounds that came from his throat, ah…

Dimitri helped him. With excited, clumsy fingers, he pulled at laces and buckles and the ribbon in Felix’s hair. He was momentarily distracted by combing his fingers through that soft, silky mass, remembering how it had felt when Felix had buried his face against his neck when they were children. He came back to himself, of course, when Felix swayed their hips together and he felt the undeniable reality of his desire, a burning line of heat through his breeches, one that was echoed in his own.

Felix moaned, when he felt it, rubbing up against his own.

They were moving a moment later, in tandem as if on some signal, stumbling and practically tripping over one another on their way to the bedchamber and the mattress within. They left discarded bits of clothing in their wake -- Felix’s belt. Dimitri’s halfcape. Felix’s gloves. Dimitri’s coat. They shed layers and layers as they moved, until Felix’s thighs hit the mattress and he fell back, and Dimtiri saw him dress only in his white shirt and breeches and boots, the very same thing he wore, himself.

The boots had to go, first.

Dimitri took Felix’s thigh in both of his hands, shiving at the thick muscle and soft flesh there. He drew his hands slowly down, slowly, to where the laces of his boots were tied. He pulled at them, very aware of Felix’s eyes on him, and he was kind enough not to look up and meet them. The laces were complex enough that it took all of his attention, in any case.

He went slowly, pulling Felix’s legs free once he finally worked all the way down the heel. He started on the next with careful fingers, but Felix shook his leg and growled, leaning back on his hands.

“Dammit,” he snapped. “Hurry up, won’t you? We’ll be here all night, if you’re going to move like that.”

Dimitri hummed, low in his throat. “You say that like you think I don’t intend to,” he replied. “Didn’t I say? I’m taking _care_ of you, Felix. A service for my dearest friend. Please… relax.”

And Felix seemed to. He fell back against the mattress, and Dimitri heard him whisper, “Of course,” very quietly.

He frowned. He sounded… slightly disappointed, perhaps.

He looked up.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, softly, trying to catch his gaze.

But Felix had turned his head all the way to one side, and one hand hid his mouth when he answered. “If you’re stopping,” he said, perhaps too sharply, “Tell me, so that I can go back to my room.”

“I’m not stopping,” Dimitri promised, and after a few more moments, as he slowly slid off that second boot and carressed the length of Felix’s long, lithe leg, so solid and well made beneath his hands, Felix did seem to melt down into the mattress, sucking in a deep breath and then letting it out slowly.

When Dimitri looked up, his eyes were closed. His lashes fanned out across his cheeks, and he looked…

 _Beautiful_.

Dimitri swallowed, feeling his heart turn somersaults in his chest and his stomach erupt into butterflies.

Hah. He was so inexperienced that such simple things made him feel so much. He was sure that Felix would find his momentary burst of emotion very embarrassing, indeed.

“Has anyone been taking care of you, Felix?” he asked, softly, as he reached for the laces of his breeches. His fingers brushed the rigid, burning line of him beneath, and Felix hissed and rolled his head back.

“No,” he gasped out. “No.”

“Then I must be sure to be very thorough,” Dimitri replied. 

He gripped the fabric of his pants by his hips, shimmying them down, and felt something indescribable bloom in his chest as Felix’s hard cock sprang forth, falling against his stomach. He looked up at his face instinctively -- as if trying to catch someone’s gaze after witnessing a particularly impressive sight. The recognition that that was what he was doing made him laugh, breathlessly, and he watched Felix’s eyelids flutter in response.

“Don’t make fun,” Felix said, his jaw bulging. “I know I’m -- inadequate. I --”.

“Inadequate?” Dimitri echoed, shocked to hear such a thing. “Nonsense! Oh, Felix, I -- look at you. You are the last thing from inadequate! You are… you are…”.

He had no words, in truth, try as he might to find them. Best if he set to using his mouth to make his point more effectively.

Felix nearly came up off the bed when he wrapped his lips around him, buried his fingers deep in his hair when he sucked him in deeper, and cried out in shocked bliss when he swirled his tongue around his length. Dimitri hummed in satisfaction, and then chuckled, deep and low in his chest, when Felix’s legs came up around him, heels pressing into his shoulder blades. 

“Dimitri,” Felix gasped, weakly. His fingers flexed in his hair. “Dimitri -- ah, Dima!”

It was good, fulfilling work, Dimitri decided. This was new, but he thought he understood how to perform well in principle, and Felix seemed to agree, writhing and then falling back and then curling back up again with the rise and fall of Dimitri’s pace. He liked the smell, he decided, musky and rich at the back of his nose, so thick and vivid it was very nearly taste. He liked myriad little sounds Felix made, deep in his chest and high in his throat, groans and whimpers. He liked the warmth of him, how connected he felt.

It was not very long at all before he was thinking less about servicing Felix, and more about simply doing what felt good to his own lips and tongue and mouth.

He felt Felix nearing a peak -- felt his hips twitching, felt his cock throbbing, heard the increasingly desperate tenor of his cries of bliss. He worked toward it tirelessly, eager to feel the moment when Felix would come apart around him, fantasizing quite eagerly about seeing him like that -- spent, exhausted, panting, and peaceful. He’d have that little smile on his lips, that satisfied little grin he’d worn so many times, satisfied and just a little bit smug, because even as a sweet boy, Felix had had that in him.

Dimitri wanted to see it -- wanted it so badly.

Only --

Felix’s fingers caught in his hair, pulling at him. Bedsport, Dimitri thought, until his tugging became rather insistent and he heard him gasp out. “No, no, stop, stop --”.

Dimitri was more than reluctant to stop. It was near torture, in fact. To let him fall from his mouth, to look up at him. “What’s wrong?” he asked. His voice was so hoarse.

Felix’s cheeks blazed. He stared up at the ceiling, eyes closed. His lips worked, silently. He clenched his jaw. And then, finally, he said, in a soft voice:.

“I -- if -- if you, if you aren’t averse, I --” He bit his lip. His mouth moved in a silent curse. And then he sat up, his eyes flying open, meeting Dimitri’s.

“Felix?”

“I want to feel you,” Felix gasped. “Don’t -- don’t let it end, now. I want to _feel_ you, Dimitri. Inside. I -- please.”

The breath left his lungs. Something rolled through him, head to toe, more powerful and overwhelming than an avalanche, and he was just as powerless before it. The very world seemed to shift on its axis.

Felix’s eyes, locked with his, were -- were the most compelling, and most lovely thing he had ever seen.

Even if he hadn’t wanted it, more than he’d ever wanted anything, in that moment… he could not possibly have said no.

*

The yellow light of dawn woke him.

He blinked against it, then threw up a hand in an attempt to block it. Sleep, for once peaceful and sweet and dreamless, fled even as he tried to cling to it, slipping between his fingers, and he groaned and blinked his one eye open, turning over onto his side. The bed was warm, wonderfully so, with the bright sun spilling over it, and --

And he was not alone.

Ah.

Felix’s hair, dark and silken, fanned out across the pillow, and everything from the night before flooded back like a tide, nearly knocking the wind out of him.

The memory of images, sensations, smells -- 

\-- the arch of Felix’s back, the sweetness of his cries, the scent of the soft curve of his neck --

\-- the way it had felt, to slowly and relentlessly sink into him after what felt like hours of preparation, feeling him clench and shudder, hearing him mewl and gasp --

It all knocked the wind out of him.

And, in the absence of breath, in the absence of near _anything_ but the incredible sight of Felix’s peaceful, sweet face against his own pillow and the memory of what it had felt like to be with him like that, something astounding came upon him, all at once.

Eagerly, with fingers that shook and with his heart thudding like a bass drum in his ears, he reached over and shook him roughly awake. “Felix,” he gasped. “Felix! Wake up. I -- there is something incredible I have to tell you.”

Felix’s angelic face crumpled up, and his lips pulled back from his teeth. “Hrngh!” he protested, hands coming up to try and bat Dimitri’s away. But after a moment, he seemed to recall something -- or everything, perhaps. His eyes flew open, locked with Dimitri’s, and he drew in a sharp intake of breath.

“Dimitri,” he said, barely audible.

He watched Felix swallow, throat bobbing. One hand flew up to his mouth, and then took the blanket in hand to haul it up to his chin. Panic and something else flickered across his expression.

He shook his head, hard. “Shit,” he breathed. “Shit, I -- you’re right. I need to get out of here, before someone --”

“Wait,” Dimitri said. “Felix, wait. I need to tell you something. It’s important.”

Something dark fluttered across Felix’s expression. He nodded, slowly. “Of course,” he said. “... let’s have it, then.”

And Dimitri smiled, that feeling welling up within him, too big to be contained. “I think that I’m in love with you,” he said.

Perhaps such a confession ought to terrify him. To put himself forward in such a way, to risk such rejection, or ridicule, or even worse. And yet, what he felt speaking the truth he had just discovered made him feel only happiness. More than that -- _relief_. Like he’d finally grasped something just out of his reach,

Felix’s lips parted. His eyes went wide. “... what?” he asked, faintly.

Dimitri reached out, brushing hair back from his face. “I said --”

And Felix turned away, roughly. “I -- heard what you said!” he snapped, his voice high and shrill and so stuffed full of myriad emotions that Dimitri could not, in fact, identify any of them. “Obviously! But, I just -- you -- fuck, Dimitri, last night, you said that I was -- that we were --!” And he twisted back around, his gaze accusatory, his colour high, and his voice cracked and broke as he demanded: “Since _when_?”

Ah.

And Dimitri thought of Felix. Standing between him and his weaponsmaster. Barring the door. Curled up in his bed. Riding pillion on his horse. Meeting him blow for blow in the training yard. Searching for him when everyone else had given up. Reminding him of what mattered. Standing at his side at his coronation.

And slamming his hands on the table, making inappropriate threats to Lords and Ladies of the realm.

Taking care of him. Seeing him, and not the crown. Always.

“I’m not sure,” he murmured, and smiled. “Since forever?”

For a moment, he thought that Felix might throw back the blankets and stomp out, leaving him alone. Then, he thought he might be about to launch into some tirade, to argue with and rail against him.

Or, perhaps he simply was going to reject him outright.

Would that make him regret his admission? Despite the sense of it, he didn’t think so.

But Felix did none of that. Instead, his features softened, and he reached slowly up, laying his calloused hand against Dimitri’s cheek with such gentleness it didn’t seem possible. Not from him.

“Unbelievable,” he whispered. “You -- Goddess, Dimitri. You’re -- _unbelievable_.”

“Let me take care of you,” Dimitri said, softly. Wonder coiled in his belly. He thought that, perhaps, he could _feel_ the words that Felix did not say. “I swear that I will. For as long as you’ll let me.”

Felix’s eyes fluttered shut. “Dimitri,” he said, barely audible. “You think you need to ask my permission to do… anything? I’m yours. I’ve always been yours. Do with me as you will.”

The very dust motes around them seemed to freeze, hover, and hold their breath.

And then, Felix’s eyes flew open. He sighed. “Look at this light,” he said. “If we’re not back in the council chamber soon, Lady Daphnel and Lord Galatea will lose their tempers, negotiations will break down, and we’ll be right back where we started. Get up, Your Majesty, and put some pants on. Your kingdom awaits.”


End file.
